


Summoner's College (wip)

by gommage



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Gen, lgtbq
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 01:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7487178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gommage/pseuds/gommage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a wip of league games from the point of view of a summoner and their friends. very rough right now, no canon characters at this point but they will happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summoner's College (wip)

A figure stood in front of a building. They dressed in dull brown robes that scratched at the skin. Hand-stitched runes lined the hems. A leather-backed tome was pinned tightly to their side, a gangly arm gripping it with nervous strength. Their thumb tingled coldly from holding their place amongst the sea of pages.

This building was an institution which was a school which was a college which was a university which was a stepping stone into the world of powerful, life defining magic. The school spiraled and danced in an expression of an architect’s dream. In fact, it gave off a sense that someone was dreaming it up in that moment. Pillars twisted and warped hypnotically, lanterns flickered overhead. The entrance could only be described as grand, stories taller than any one student, as if a giant held the roof. The sky bent around the building: faint specks of stars eagerly pressed against the fading blue day. It was only a wonder, the figure thought while climbing the stone stairs, of who exactly was dreaming. 

Floods of students poured around them. Cloth whipped past in rainbows of colors- new velvet purples, last year’s reds mingled with the sewn together hoods of every hue. For a uniformed school, almost nothing would be considered uniform. Students of every height and stature rushed past. They found themself with a pair of yordles (small, sentient creatures, both with dramatically different coats of fur) chittering underfoot, followed shortly by a hulking student of indiscriminate species. From what they could tell, they had horns peeking out of their hood, and the visible skin was an off-grey. Guilt from staring caused their cheeks to color and their gaze to shift to anywhere and everywhere else. All sorts of badges, banners, sashes, and tags marked the seniors and the particularly excellent. The figure’s slow, introspective climb and awe with the talent surrounding them was interrupted by the surrounding stampede of students whisking them along. Wonder transformed into panic as they struggled vainly to keep up, as the swarm of students pushed and tumbled them to the top of the stairs.They had hardly a moment to breathe before a echoing bell rang through the hall.

They panted heavily, each bounding stride echoing their dread. Raggedy ends of their tawny robe threatened to trip them at any moment. Curses and prayers were muttered sharply in-between panicked breathes, and be it those, the magic of the school, or simply the student’s speed, they managed to slide into their class as the second bell rang. Save for a few students who were too tired to care, most heads turned towards the door opening. The professor shot the figure a cold look, followed by a saccharine smile.   
“Ah, miss…” the teacher looked down at his sheet, “Talia? We’ve already finished roll, please take your seat,” he pushed up his glasses and turned back to the class before he finished speaking.

They felt their heart drop in a moment of now-or-never. Their face burned hotly as they stuttered,  
“Mr. Ronin, Th-that’s, that’s not-“   
The teacher turned his head towards them.   
“What is it dear? You can’t be lost, your name is right here.” He pointed to a small-script name, “Talia”, neatly printed next to their hometown, Piltover. They glanced at the sheet nervously before pressing on,   
“No, sir, that’s not my name. I mean, it’s my birth name, which is why I’m on there, but I’m my name is Pirk, sir. And I’m, not a miss. ”   
Any forced humor in his eyes evaporated. The class was dead silent for a moment, a few knowing upperclassmen broke the silence with snickering.   
“ Miss Talia, you are in my class. Unless you look a lot older than you appear and have hidden a teacher’s mastery under your dilapidated hood, this does remain my authority. Now, take. Your. Seat.” In spite of the ice in his tone, Pirk could swear he was breathing fire in that moment. They took their seat without another word: a greying desk near the back, limply held up by a rusty hinge. Pirk sat next to a blatantly sleeping teen to their left and a yordle pacing intently on their desk to the right. The class spun past them intelligibly. Words bounced off their cloak and, his pride satiated, their professor left them alone. Hours blurred and Pirk found themself not remembering the previous sentence before the next had already arrived. When the freeing bell rang, Pirk slid their book into a sling bag and scurried out into the hall. As the class streamed out the door, something made them glance back at the class. Instead of Mr. Ronin mundanely shuffling papers or marking grades, Pirk was surprised to see the yordle that sat next to them bouncing animatedly in front of him. They could make out muffled yelling, all clearly coming from the yordle. Their teacher was stone-faced. Not long after, the door swung open and the yordle marched out. They paused and looked up to Pirk, who was pressed against the wall, dumbfounded.

“You can call me Iska, Pirk. Nice to meet you.” The yordle spoke with a voice that was used to being loud: the sweetness and confidence of a bold laugher. Iska smiled and walked past. Pirk took a step to keep pace.   
“….Where are you going?”   
“ Oh. Right. Detention. C’mon, you’re coming too.”  
“What?!”  
“Mr. Ronin can bite my fluffy ass- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you in trouble but hey. I hear the accommodations are amazing.”

**Author's Note:**

> The time setting, irl, is about the release of Ekko, so 2015. The rest of the story will catch itself up to the present. Also, I'll be updating this first chapter until I'm happy, this is not at all set in stone.


End file.
